


Climbing sunward

by morred



Category: Biggles Series - W. E. Johns
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 21:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morred/pseuds/morred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Biggles and Algy spend the later years of the Great War in each other's pockets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Climbing sunward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silveronthetree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silveronthetree/gifts).



> Dear silveronthetree, happy yuletide! I really hope you enjoy this.
> 
> Notes / foreword:  
> Captain, later Major, James Bigglesworth, D.S.O., M.C. of the R.F.C. (later the RAF) is a fictitious character, and thus I have no qualms in retelling some of his adventures, particularly those involving his stalwart chum and companion Flight-Lieutentant, later Captain, the Hon. Algernon Lacey. The vignettes in this piece cover the period from Algy joining 266 Squadron, stationed then at Maranique, France, until the Armistice and the beginning of the inter-war adventures described in Biggles and the Cruise of the Condor. All the action here takes place in Europe, as requested by the recipient.
> 
> There are some instances where I have tweaked canon to better fit my own ends, and other points on which Captain W. E. Johns is less than clear (it can be understood that Biggles’s eyes are _deep-set_ , but it is less clear whether they are grey or hazel…).
> 
> I have used some terminology from the books, which, to the best of my knowledge, is consistent with the slang used by the British pilots of the period. In the introductions to his accounts of Biggles’s adventures, W. E. Johns adds this note:  
>  _The word ‘Hun’ as used in this book, was the common generic term for anything belonging to the enemy. It was used in a familiar sense, rather than derogatory. Witness the fact that in the R.F.C., a hun was also a pupil at flying school._
> 
> The title is a reference to the poem ‘High Flight’ by John Gillespie Magee, Jr. ‘Getting into the sun’ was an essential tactic for pilots. Particularly when the sun is low, or one is flying west, it is almost impossible to see anything arriving from a sunward direction. Maintaining a position ‘in the sun’ is therefore both the best defensive strategy for a pilot, and the best place from which to launch an attack: the ideal place to be.

He recognised him easily; the uniform might have been different, but the steady hazel eyes were unmistakeably those which had stared at Algy from his mother’s photographs for years. His cousin (he could recite the exact kinship, it’s the sort of thing his mother thinks important, but ‘cousin’ is accurate enough), the great Biggles: now gaining an impressive reputation as an air fighter, but before that an impossibly adventurous hero to a small boy trapped in velvet suits and overlong hair.

(Algy remembered the old familiar garden becoming a mangrove swamp, the upper Nile, the heart of the Congo, the Himalayas, through which the intrepid explorer Biggles might trek, accompanied only by his trusty second-in-command, manservant or – on a particularly trying afternoon - spaniel.)

Biggles fixed his new recruit with a look Algy remembered well: the cool assessing glance of a teenager given charge of an unprepossessing youngster, who he strongly suspects will ruin any chance of fun. Algy tried very hard to strike the right note of enthusiastic optimism.

That evening in the mess, Algy stared hard at Biggles’s. _Captain Bigglesworth,_ he repeated mentally, _Flight-Captain J C Bigglesworth, R.F.C_., trying to fix the unfamiliar name in his mind.

Of course it had been foolish of him to expect Biggles – _Captain Bigglesworth_ – to allow him to trade on old, slight, acquaintance. He was, after all, no longer the only boy under Biggles’s command.

***

 _Letter from Flight-Lieutenant the Hon. Algernon Lacey, R.F.C., to  Lady Honoria Stanton Lacey_

Dearest Mother,

I have arrived safely at 266, to a top-rate welcome. Everyone is very keen to us new fliers out to do what we can. Tomorrow Captain Bigglesworth (as we must call him here) has promised to take me over the Lines. The aerodrome is pretty sparse, but there is a good bed just outside the Officer’s Mess (where we eat and that, you know), where I can plant some geraniums. Could you ask Fletcher to send me some seeds?

 … _later_

Just a few lines to bring you up-to-date – Biggles took us on our first patrol over the Lines and I got my first Hun! Biggles says that if you last 24 hours out here you’re practically an old hand. Biggles has more than 20 confirmed kills himself, but he’s promised to teach me all the tricks he knows! We got caught in another dogfight yesterday, but I stuck close to Biggles and we pulled through. I’ve been here 48 hours and got one of them, so if I can get another before I “go west”, I can be sure I’ve kept us ahead and done my part.

Much love to you and Father,

Your affectionate son,

Algernon

***

Biggles stood outside the hangars of ‘C’ flight, leaning against the shed and unconsciously opening and closing the neck of his tunic with slim fingers. He was intent on watching the sky, where a lone Camel was stunting – barrel rolls, loops, and the right-handed spin for which the machine was famous – so intent that he didn’t notice the approach of his Mahoney and ‘Mac’ Macauley, his fellow flight-commanders.

‘Never seen a Camel spin before, Biggles?’ Mac called cheerily.

Biggles started, then turned and waved a greeting.

‘That lad of his isn’t doing so badly,’ Mahoney remarked, grinning at Mac over Biggles’s head.

‘Go boil your head,’ Biggles returned, aiming a friendly punch at Mahoney’s broad shoulder. ‘If any of your pups can fly half as well after a week here, I’ll eat your hat. And he isn’t _my_ lad. Watch this,’ he added after a second, ‘I’ve had him doing this every time he lands.’

The Camel banked and stood suddenly on its nose. The stark rattle of twin Vickers guns broke the air. Mac and Mahoney automatically followed Biggles’s gaze, seconds before an oil can was gunned down in a blaze of tracer bullets.

‘Lucky shot,’ Mac grinned.

‘Lucky? Lucky my eye,’ Biggles retorted. ‘He’s coming in, so either make yourselves scarce or no more of that rot about lucky shots.’

Algy’s Camel taxied to a halt and he jumped out, waving cheerily at his mechanic. ‘Hit it with my first round, did you see, Biggles?’

He was rewarded with the warm clasp of Biggles’s hand on his shoulder. ‘We saw. The other two were pretty impressed, weren’t you, chaps? ‘A’ Flight must look to its laurels – if Algy manages to shoot like that in a dogfight, the rest of you might as well pack up and head home. There’ll be no Huns left in the sky for you to shoot!’

***

The distant hum of engines reached the straining ears of the officers’ mess of 266 Squadron. ‘Only two,’ Mahoney observed quietly. The evening patrol was late returning. Most officers were making a show of continuing with their cards or conversations, though a keen observer would have noticed Algy Lacey’s shoulders hunched with tension and, much to his bridge partner’s disgust, he wasn’t acquitting himself with his usual skill.

Mahoney’s observation was confirmed as the patrol drew closer and landed, and the strained atmosphere held until the mess door burst open. All eyes turned to the door as Biggles strode in, followed anxiously by Tom Llewellyn, one of 266’s newer recruits. Algy’s shoulders dropped in guilty relief.

‘They got Chalky,’ Biggles intoned, speaking to the mess at large, though his eyes sought out those first of Algy, then of Major Mullen, the CO. ‘Ignored me and Llewellyn completely, five of ‘em heading straight for the least experienced- I call that a dirty trick.’

‘I should have noticed Chalky’d dropped behind…’ Llewellyn started nervously.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Biggles snapped, more harshly than he’d intended. ‘Sorry. Here, have a drink. There’s- I told him to stick by me, and I should have pulled him in sooner when he started to drift. We were over our own Lines, so I thought…’ He took a pull of his scotch, handing a second glass to the younger officer. ‘But no blame attaches to you, Tom.’ Biggles swept his eyes round the mess. ‘I still call it a dirty, sneaking, _cowardly_ \- of all the- there were five, Albatrosses, all grey-nosed like the rats-‘ he paused, lips compressing into a thin white line. ‘We dived for home as soon as I saw them, and if they’d split- but they all went for poor Chalky. Poor lad, he didn’t even- ‘

There was a smash as Biggles hurled his tumbler into the fire, followed by a bang as he slammed the mess door behind him. Llewellyn, almost as pale as his flight-commander, made a move towards the door. Major Mullen shared a glance with Mahoney over the top of his newspaper.

‘Steady lad.’ Mahoney placed a friendly hand on Llewellyn’s shoulder to coax him to sit back down. ‘It’s not your fault. Biggles- best to leave him to himself for a bit.’

‘But Lacey-‘ and indeed, Algy had slipped silently from his seat.

‘Biggles’ll be happy to see Lacey,’ Mac chipped in. ‘But he’d be no’ pleased to see you now, laddie. You bide here with us a while. Biggles’ll be back when he calms down.’

***

It had been the idea of Major Raymond at Wing Headquarters. The Germans were rumoured to developing a new two-seater aeroplane, capable of increased altitude and a remarkable turn of speed. A test squadron had been sent to France, but information was scanty. Raymond had promised a weekend’s leave and transport to Paris to whichever pilot managed to bring down one of the new German ‘planes, intact, behind British lines.

Major Raymond surveyed the two young officers standing in front of him, trying to stop a smile from playing about his lips. He’d heard there was some sort of family connection, and perhaps one could believe it. Biggles was built to a slimmer scale, with those almost girlish hands, and Algy had perhaps an inch of height on his flight-commander, but both had the same fair hair.

‘When I made my offer, I wasn’t anticipating a double act.’

‘It wasn’t a job for one man, sir, and Algy- Flight-Lieutentant Lacey, sir- was crucial to the development and- ’

‘Enough, Biggles.’ Raymond smiled as Biggles relaxed at the use of his nickname. ‘As I was saying, I wasn’t anticipating a double act, but as you two have provided one, and taken the Boche down a peg for the time being, I’m happy to announce you’ve both been granted a weekend’s leave. And transport, of course.’

Biggles stammered his thanks while clapping Algy on the back. Algy’s delighted smile hit Biggles first, then he extended a hand to shake Major Raymond’s enthusiastically. ‘Thanks, sir, it- we’d have done it without, of course, but all the same- ’

‘Run along now,’ the Major said, with another grin. ‘No doubt I’ll be seeing both of you again soon enough.’

***

Algy took a final despairing look at the fog swamping the aerodrome and trudged back inside. Biggles wasn’t in the mess, and he hadn’t been on the tarmac, so Algy headed to his room. It had been many months since Algy had bothered with anything more than the most perfunctory knock, and Biggles was still muttering _come in_ as Algy opened the door. Biggles had clearly been interrupted mid-pace, and he resumed while Algy perched on the edge of the bed. ‘I’m not late, am I?’ Biggles asked, twitching his wrist to glance at his watch. ‘Is the Flight waiting?’

‘Patrol’s off this morning. We’ll be on the carpet all day if this blessed fog doesn’t lift.’

Biggles shrugged elegantly and lit another cigarette. ‘Do you want a drink?’ Algy took in the bottle of scotch standing half-empty beside the bed and the tumbler on the nightstand. ‘It’s the last of that case I won from Wilks.’

‘Bit early for me, old thing,’ Algy answered, shifting slightly. ‘Nuisance about this fog, isn’t it?’

Another shrug. ‘They’ll still up there when we do get in the air.’

Algy smiled uneasily. ‘Not like you, though, not to be up and raring to go.’ His eyes slid involuntarily to the scotch bottle.

‘I see.’ Biggles was already pale, but his lips thin. ‘Did someone send you in here to read me the riot act? Or do you want to express your _concern_.’

Algy reddened, stung. ‘No one asked me to come. I came to let you know morning patrol’s off, that’s all. If you’re not mad keen to be in the air, don’t you have some leave backed up you can use? I don’t think you’ve had a day off since we were in Paris, and that’s six months ago.’

Biggles whirled round but, controlling himself, stalked over to take a slug of scotch. ‘I don’t need a break, thanks. Did Mullen put you up to this? He’s been hinting about leave for a while.’

‘No one put me up to this,’ Algy repeated as calmly as he could. ‘Biggles, I- you _are_ drinking rather more than you used to, and God knows this war can be hell itself on the nerves…’

‘Algy,’ there was something in Biggles’s tone that made Algy stand up, unconsciously coming to attention. ‘I appreciate your concern,’ his voice was clipped and his fingers picked at his cigarette, ‘but just because- our _friendship_ does not give you the _right_ to-’

‘It started when young Chalky went topsides,’ Algy went on, undaunted, ‘and now, since Marie- ’

‘Marie. I wondered if that’s what you really wanted to jaw about. She… Algy…’

‘I didn’t want to talk about Marie,’ Algy retorted hotly. ‘And I don’t- whatever she was to you, Biggles, I don’t _care_.’

‘Rot.’

Algy suddenly grabbed Biggles by the arm and wrenched him round until he could look him in the face. ‘Damn you, Biggles,’ his voice was almost a hiss. ‘Do me the decency of believing me. She was the amour de your coeur, to you she will always be The woman, she was a passing fancy. I don’t _care_. She hasn’t flown with you, hasn’t dived for the lines with a dozen Boche on her tail and only you beside her, hasn’t stayed with you through hours of decoy or days of bloody trench-strafing. She hasn’t laughed with you in Paris and wept when a friend went west or-’

‘All right,’ Biggles muttered, with something closer to his usual good humour. ‘Algy, I- I’m sorry.’

‘Nothing to be sorry for. Just- throttle back on the booze for a while, for my sake if nothing else.’

‘My word on it, Algy. You might let go of my arm, you know, I think the blood’ll stop.’

Algy smiled, abashed, and relaxed his grip on Biggles’s forearm until his fingers were resting on the fabric of his flying tunic. ‘The Professor’s come up with some new scheme for strafing balloons,’ Algy began, lips quirking.

‘I have a headache.’ Biggles brought his hand to cover Algy’s, fingers cool and trembling slightly. ‘I think perhaps I’d better lie down.’

***

The Armistice had been signed, kits packed and all that was left for 266 Squadron was to wait for the final orders for their demobilisation. The rest of the Squadron were enjoying the last fling of hospitality from 287, which allowed Algy and Biggles to take command of the two chairs closest to the mess fire.

‘London will seem boredom itself after this,’ Biggles observed, kicking at the fender and lighting a cigarette. Algy leant across to light his own, before settling back into the chair and gazing into the flames.

‘About London, Biggles… I know we always said a flat.’

Biggles took a slow drag of his cigarette. ‘But…?’

Algy scuffed his feet against the carpet. ‘You once said that war makes strange bedfellows, and I- I would hate to hold you to plans made in a- in the theatre of war-’

‘You always sound pompous when you’re nervous, Algy,’ Biggles observed. ‘Out with it. Do you not _want_ to share a flat?’

‘That’s not what I said at all. But I’d hate- ’

‘I’d like nothing better than to share digs with you,’ Biggles was still avoiding his gaze. ‘I’m not- to be honest, Algy, I’m not sure how to bring off this civilian caper. Never had much time to practise at it before the war, you know?’

‘I’m not sure I’ll be much hand at it myself, but at least we’ll be flying. Some of these chaps are going back to their old lives, don’t know how they can stomach it.’

There was a loud buzz of chatter as the door opened to admit the returning squadron. Mac advanced to the chairs nearest the fire and clapped a hand onto Biggles’s shoulder. ‘Move aside, there’s a good chap. It’s perishing outside.’

‘We can’t all sit home by the fire like an old married couple,’ Mahoney added, cheerfully tipping Algy out of his chair.

Biggles grinned. ‘Well, as I’m on my feet, I suppose the drinks are on me.’

There was a rousing cheer, and someone began a chorus of _For he’s a jolly good fellow_.

***

 _Extract from a letter from Captain Algernon Lacey, R.F.C., to  Lady Honoria Stanton Lacey_

… Sorry once again that we were forced to cancel our visit at such short notice, and for only now being able to send a fuller explanation. As I said in my scrawl, Biggles was taken rather badly ill, which I’m not ashamed to say alarmed me a bit - he never had so much as a cough at the Front! Things were rather busy here for a time, and we had to keep the flat quite while he convalesced.

Thank you for the offer of an introduction to Dr Thompson. In the event if wasn’t necessary as Major Mullen got us onto a marvellous fellow who specialises in we airmen and is used to our quirks! Biggles, I’m glad to say, is on the mend and will soon be his old steady self again.

Please let me know when you’re next in town, and we can lunch. I can’t motor down at present - I’m still not sure about leaving old Biggles to fend for himself for too long.

Your affectionate son,  
Algernon

***

‘I’ll start strafing the Strand at this rate.’

Algy heaved a sigh and folded up the newspaper. ‘Steady on, Biggles… perhaps if we flew over Buckingham Palace they’d at least put up a bit of archie for us to dodge?’

Biggles smiled and threw a slipper at Algy’s head. ‘I wasn’t _entirely_ serious. But this blasted peace is duller than three days doing decoy. There are times when I positively ache to hear a gun go off.’

Algy shot him a troubled glance. ‘You haven’t been _well_ that long. The doctor said- ’

‘Oh, the doctor can go to blazes. He thought I was overwrought from the war. What utter tosh.’

Algy was spared from answering by a knock at the door. ‘That’ll be the post… one for you, three for me. Two bills, and a maternal missive. Yours looks interesting though.’

Biggles slit the envelope and grinned. ‘By the propeller of my sainted aunt! It’s from my uncle Dickpa. Haven’t heard from him in years. Says he wants to see us… he has a proposition for us.’


End file.
